Tangshuo’s artwork incorporates the essence of transitory and short-lived moments in daily life—seemingly standing still but on the verge of movement, portraying both intimacy and detachment. The artist’s paintings often display two or more figures that look like alternate versions of one person and are placed against serene, mysterious backdrops where the stories are not clearly told but suggested. The atmosphere is subdued and reflective, inviting observers to dwell in an unhurried, contemplative ambiance, and let the significance of the works seep out from understated movements, unspoken gestures, and the peaceful unease of being together. His works are carefully and thoughtfully created.
words: yannis kostarias
Tangshuo’s approach reflects a strong commitment to simplicity and clarity. His brushwork is gentle and precise, lacking bold textures or gestures. Instead, he creates his images with careful layering, and each surface maintains a calm, matte feel. The overall vision is steady; nothing feels overdone. There’s no sense of urgency in these scenes. Time feels paused, elongated. This stillness of time can make even the most mundane act — pouring tea, squatting in a field, touching a hand — emotionally weighted.
Edges are soft, transitions are gentle, and no detail on the canvas distracts attention from the totality. That serene control is the emotional mood of the work in which a thoughtful reflection can be easily encouraged. An essential part of this atmosphere is Tangshuo’s unique color scheme, featuring pale tones and subdued colors. With the earthy greens, muted grays and browns, having some whispering rose and ochre tones all in a leading role, the colors simply do not get saturated. In other words, the palette evokes a world that is both harmonious and emotionally muted. His use of colours does not want to contrast or become intense with other elements while their very subtlety instead allow for some deeper understanding. These tones do not stand for anything as symbols; they evoke calm, introspective, and a little bit distanced feelings. The very restraint with which the palette is applied helps create the poetry behind the work, compelling one to divert from the distractions and focus entirely on gesture, space, and emotional suggestion.
One of the most distinctive aspects of Tangshuo’s practice is how he builds his characters. Faces are often simplified; eyes are darkened or downcast, and expressions are unreadable or barely formed. This ambiguity seems to be intentional. The absence of fixed identity or strong emotion makes each figure a vessel for projection, letting viewers enter the emotional space of the painting through their own perspective. The relationships between figures are similarly open-ended. They share space and gesture toward each other with tenderness or tension, but their connection is never explicitly defined. There is always a sense of emotional closeness without a clear narrative resolution. Tangshuo’s work is not about storytelling in the traditional way. Instead, he paints relationships—between bodies, between moments, and between gestures. His paintings resist final interpretation, creating a quiet space where empathy, reflection, and emotional resonance can softly settle.
Can you look into the tale or spark behind one of your new pieces? For example, what was the tale or feeling that drove the links between the shapes and their place?
‘Take A Famil’ as an example. This painting carries the story of my childhood best friend. His mother suffered from a hereditary illness, and tragically, he too was afflicted, passing away after five years of battling the disease. Even more heartbreaking, his older brother had succumbed to the same illness years earlier. When I learned of his death, I felt an overwhelming urge to create a painting for him and his family as a memorial. The environment, expressions, and postures of the figures in the painting stem entirely from my imagination, like a single frame frozen from a film. Yet, as the storyteller, I am acutely aware that what I can portray is only a fragment—the unspoken struggles against illness, the pain and resilience, can never be fully reconstructed.
Your art often shows people in close, nearly dramatic settings. What drives your interest in these social interactions, and how do you make the mix of realness and deeper meanings in your paintings?
I have always sought to express the complex relationship between people—how they are both independent and deeply connected. Where I grew up, traditional Chinese ethical values and cultural disruptions made it difficult for people to express emotions openly. This cultural context gives the figures in my paintings a sense of simultaneous closeness and distance. The theatrical scenes are imagined spaces I construct, like a stage play with simple sets—not realistic depictions, which is why the figures and environments exist in a contradictory yet harmonious coexistence. For the mountain communities I observed, their interactions remained in their most primal form, unpolished by excessive cultural influences. To me, this rawness reveals the truest essence of humanity, and I strive to uncover this fundamental quality in my work.
Could you share with us some insights on your painting diptych ‘Death Notice from Afar, (2024)? Is there any particular story behind this new work?
This piece originates from a vivid memory when I was five years old. While my parents were working in the fields, a stranger suddenly knelt before them to deliver the news of my grandfather’s passing. It was my first experience with the death of a loved one and my first encounter with the solemn ritual of delivering such news. As I grew older and witnessed similar scenes again, that hazy childhood memory became clearer. By recreating this moment, I not only pay tribute to my late grandfather but also explore the artistic expression of life’s end and the transmission of familial bonds—attempting to capture those ineffable emotions and fleeting moments of existence through the canvas.
Looking at your work male figures have been keeping a significant role in your body of work as a recurring motif; is there a particular reason behind your focus on representing masculinity in your paintings?
In truth, the repeated presence of male figures is not meant to emphasize masculinity. I often use my own image and body as a medium to tell others’ stories, seeing myself as a vessel for conveying emotions rather than the central subject of the work. The figures in my paintings could be anyone—male or female—serving simply as carriers of diverse life experiences and emotional narratives.
The use of light and dark in your art makes a clear mood, while your color choices often bring both brightness and softness. How do you pick colors, and what part do they have in strengthening the feeling of each work?
When I begin a painting, I never know exactly how it will turn out. I constantly revise and adjust, searching for color combinations that align with my inner emotions. My struggle with color may stem from the dimly lit old house where I grew up. Deprived of vibrant hues in childhood, I developed a delayed sensitivity to color. When creating, I often immerse myself in memories, which tend to appear in monochrome. Thus, the colors in my works not only compensate for my childhood lack of color but also serve as vessels for complex emotions, becoming bridges that connect the artwork to the viewer’s feelings.
A lot of your pieces seem based on ideas of looking ͏inside, bonds with others, and feelings among people in nature. Are there clear cultures, thoughts or personal stories that influence these common themes?
These themes are deeply rooted in my decade-long experience of living in my hometown. In that relatively isolated village, mundane events that might seem trivial elsewhere felt intensely dramatic to me. Village conflicts, emotional entanglements, mysterious ghost stories, and century- old tales told by elders all became windows into the complexities of human nature. These fragments pieced together a surreal yet authentic portrait of existence, prompting me to reflect on the intricate, hidden bonds between people—and to deconstruct and reconstruct these relationships in my art.
Working in the fields and mountains also shaped my understanding of the relationship between humans and nature. In a village entirely dependent on nature’s bounty, the rhythm of planting and harvesting became life’s guiding pulse. This firsthand experience made me realize that humans and nature are not opposing forces but interconnected beings. These rural memories and experiences became an endless wellspring of inspiration, driving me to explore the intricate ties between humanity, emotion, and the natural world through my brush.
What about the place where you work now? What’s your studio space look like?
I temporarily returned to China in March of this year, hoping to create some works here. I prefer quiet, undisturbed places, as far from crowds as possible, so I set up my studio in a forested area in Dali. A friend runs a garden hotel there and offered me a very secluded space. The studio is small, only 30 square meters, with large, bright floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides. Compared to the bustle of London, this place allows me to work in peace.
Which are your plans for the near future?
I am currently preparing works for a solo exhibition at Art Paris Fair in April 2026, followed by another solo show in New York in October 2026.
all images courtesy of the artist